Give This Child a Home
by katbybee
Summary: Funeral Fic. How and where would a retired Fire Chief spend his final years? How would he influence those around him? Please Note: This story has NOTHING to do with REALITY! Please see important A/Ns for origins of story. There are NO LYRICS in story, but it was inspired by "Wild Montana Skies," by John Denver, RIP. Don't Own; No Cash. R/R.
**Give This Child a Home**

 **The Evening Before**

I hate funerals. Doesn't matter how many of them I go to, they're always, hard. This one will be harder than most, because of the original "Fearless Six" it's down to just Chet and me. And Chet is heartbroken, because after countless pranks over the years, the Phantom is going to have to say goodbye to his Pigeon. And even though we haven't seen Johnny in over five years, neither one of us is ready.

Who would have thought that of all of us, Johnny would die peacefully…with a fishing pole in his hands, of all things! But that is exactly how one of his friends up here found him. Apparently, he'd gone down to catch his dinner, and…just died.

Retired Chief John R. Gage, LACoFD, aged 71…dead behind his cabin in Montana. I still can't believe it; any more than I believe we're going to be following his final requests contained in the letter marked "Confidential," that was given to us by Johnny's young neighbor, Luke. We opened the letter earlier this evening, as requested, sitting in John's neat, sparsely furnished cabin.

The envelope simply read "Chet and Marco." Chet indicated I should open it, as he was too overwhelmed. I tried to read it out loud, but finally gave up, read it quickly, then handed it over to my best friend. Johnny's familiar chicken scrawl tipped me over the edge. It was dated almost three years ago.

"Fellas:

Knowing you, you'll be in your dress blues at the funeral. Don't be surprised if people look at you weird. Nobody knows anything about LA at all. In fact, they know _nothing_ about me or my past, except for my name. That's the way I want it around here. I haven't even told Luke or the doctor I'm seeing for my lung problem. Cancer.

Yeah, I know about it. He's giving me just a couple of years. Lots of guys in our business go this way. Why should I be any different? That's why I don't want you guys around. Hard enough as it is. Even though it hurt like hell to lose him, I always figured Roy was the lucky one. One massive MI one minute, and BAM…gone.

Anyway, Luke will handle the arrangements. The cancer is about the only thing Luke does know about me. That and that I want things very simple. He knows what to do. Just roll with it. I do not want any big deal. Nothing official. That's not who I am anymore.

I have just a few friends here, but they are good ones. Some folks think I'm kinda nuts, because I don't socialize, and I don't talk much. They don't get that I had enough of that for a lifetime. The local gossips are miffed because I refuse to fill in the blanks and tell them anything. So they tell stories about me. I have heard some pretty wild tales. Some are downright hilarious! Actually, it amuses the hell out of Luke, who keeps threatening to write a song about me one day.

Luke comes over sometimes, and we play chess, or break out our guitars and play the night way, sipping on homemade wine, when I can, or Cokes, when I can't. That boy is really good! I keep telling him he should go to LA and record his stuff someday, but he doesn't want to leave the mountains. Who am I to argue? He has a point…

Anyway, the other passion Luke and I share is for the wildlife around here. I live on just a small corner of the land I actually own. Luke has promised to use the money I will leave behind to turn the 200 acres I own into a wildlife sanctuary, and to buy more land as it becomes available.

That's where I need your help. You guys are familiar with LA. I am leaving the key and the address to my safety deposit box in this letter. It has my lawyer's information, my will and all my financial documents in it. I think Luke is gonna be surprised at what he'll be able to accomplish with what's there. Please, fellas, do this for me. I need to know I did something meaningful with the last part of my life.

The first part of my life, the part I spent with you all were some of the best years of my entire life…I will never forget any of you. But now it's time to pass the torch to the next generation… both in the Department and here, in this place.

Chet, I'm sorry the Phantom couldn't fake out his Pigeon one last time—more sorry than you'll ever know. Hell, maybe there're flour and water bombs up there waitin' on us both to get there—who knows Maybe we'll be the first firefighters to cause a riot in the Big Firehouse in the Sky…hahaha!

Marco, take care of Chet…don't let him get bitter…I'm counting on you two to keep each other going. After all, brothers always watch out for each other, right?

Gotta go, kids!

Always,

Johnny

 **The Funeral**

It was like no funeral I had ever attended, and yet, it was perfect. It was held in Johnny's yard, by his back fence. The hole for his coffin had been dug by all of us, his friends, earlier in the day. We discovered that up here, this was a custom dating from more than a hundred years ago. Chet, a black silk sheath now covering his left arm above the elbow (his dress uniform tailored accordingly) still looked miffed. Some of the locals had earlier assumed he would not take part in digging the grave, having only half of his left arm. He promptly drew on the worn leather sheath he used at work, and dug twice as long as anyone else!*

The coffin was of simple pine. His Montana friends spoke briefly of John's impact on them… of his caring ways, of his quiet friendship with them. The pastor of the local church spoke the traditional words, but added that he felt John's spirit was finally free…flying over the mountains he so loved. They then turned expectantly to us. It was awkward, because we realized we represented a whole part of Johnny's life that he had not wanted shared, for his own private reasons. He had not told us _not_ to share his life in LA, but…who were we to question the life he had created here? The place he had made for himself? The place he called home.

Finally, Chet broke the silence. "He was like a brother to us." I simply smiled and nodded. " _Si. John es mi amigo._ " I agreed. "¡ _Vaya con Dios, mi amigo_!"**

And after the coffin was gently lowered with ropes into the grave, a group of schoolchildren, obviously also good friends of John's, handed each of us some wild flowers, and we took turns dropping them onto the coffin, as Luke played softly on his guitar. I couldn't help but notice Chet dropped a small empty balloon along with his flowers…

As we stepped back, finally it was Luke's turn; the one, in the end, who had grown to know John best:

"John and I were next door neighbors, which, as many of you know, around here, just means if you holler real loud, the neighbor might hear ya on a clear day." A few people chuckled.

"We actually lived about a quarter-mile apart, and once I got to know him, I hiked over here pretty often. It wasn't easy getting to know him, 'cuz the first few times, he chased me off real quick! He didn't want to be bothered by anyone. Here I was, this scraggy-lookin' kid with long hair, _(here, even Chet smiled sadly…)_ buggin' a man nearly 40 years older than me! But, to tell you the truth, I could sense there was something kind of, I dunno…lost, or lonesome, about him. So I just kept it up, until one day he finally invited me in.

His place was always spotless, but it always made me wonder, because there was not one knick-knack, or photograph in the place—except for this beautiful antique dream-catcher that hung over his bed in the back room. I saw it once when he was real sick, and I took him some soup. He never talked about it, and I never asked, but I also occasionally heard him speak in an Indian dialect, especially when we were working with hurt or sick animals, or when he was hurting…"

Luke stopped to wipe the tears from his eyes, and sighed heavily. "I'm gonna miss my friend. We had some good times. He could play a mean guitar when he wanted to. I'll never forget this one time we got a little crocked on some of my dandelion wine, and he suddenly starts belting out "Johnny B. Goode," like some rock star or somethin'!" Here, Luke's face lit up in a full-fledged grin, and his shaggy blond hair blew in the sudden breeze. I felt a chill run down my spine. I knew Johnny was there, listening to his friend…

"He was always telling me I should go to LA and record my music…that I should share it with everyone. I don't know if I can do that, but I did tell him I was going to write a song for him one day."

And with that, he began to sing…

 **Two Years Later**

 **Los Angeles Coliseum**

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for that warm reception tonight, and for listening to our little concert!" The singer's eyes twinkled merrily, as he shook his blond hair out of his eyes. He then grew serious as he gazed out over the front rows, his eyes lighting upon two particular seats.

"Friends, I want to share with you a little story, about a very special man, without whom I wouldn't be here tonight. I would never have had the courage to leave my home in the mountains if it weren't for him. I wouldn't have followed my dream, if he hadn't showed me that I could do it; that a man can be much more than what he chooses to show people. He chose to keep most of his life private, It wasn't until my first trip to Los Angeles that I learned there was so much to my friend than I could ever have imagined. I learned that a man can be a hero, can save lives, can influence others to make something of themselves, and in the end, can be content—to just—live."

Luke paused, as the emotion of the memories of John's funeral threatened to overwhelm him. Instead, the young star smiled down at his two very special guests; Retired LACoFD Chief Marco Lopez and LACoFD Academy Instructor Chet Kelly, now only a few months away from his own retirement. In their beaming faces, and encouraging nods, Luke found the strength to continue.

"And so, this next song was written in memory of my friend John Gage, and is also for his friends and his brothers everywhere…" As he struck up the first chords, Luke felt again the gentle breeze stirring through his hair, and across the dimly lit stage. It happened every time he played John's song, and it never failed to make him smile. The spotlight lit only a beat-up old guitar, with an antique dream-catcher leaning against it. Scattered carelessly around the stage were a riot of wildflowers…

As the music to John's song flowed over them, the audience was spellbound, as always. The song spoke of a man running from a past he hid from others, only to eventually find peace, and himself, in his beloved mountains; just as John had done.***

As the thunderous applause began to die down, Luke closed his eyes in the darkness. "Thanks, John." He could have sworn he heard John whispering in his ear, "Anytime, kid, anytime!"

~~~The End~~~

A/Ns: * See "Of Phantoms, Pigeons and Promises," for details.

** "Yes, John is my friend." "Go with God, my friend."

*** I will no longer be placing non-public domain lyrics in any of my stories, as I have been threatened with closing my entire account if I do. I inadvertently was breaking a legitimate guideline.I will simply mention the song and song writer I was inspired by in the summary or in A/Ns, and leave it at that. If you are interested in the song itself, please give it a listen. This one was "Wild Montana Skies," by John Denver.

 _A revision of my notes is necessary here_. At the time I wrote this story, I was _completely unaware_ that Randy Mantooth had, in 2015, completed treatment for an unspecified form of cancer, and is on the road to recovery. Sadly, he also lost his sister to the disease that same year. It was his stated wish on his Facebook post which was dated in 2015 to keep the announcement to only a small circle of friends and family. I was not a subscriber of his page at that time.

The guest reviewer that very recently pointed this out to me felt that it is poor taste to do a "death fic" based on Mr. Mantooth's health crisis. I assure you it was NEVER my intention to insult or demean Mr. Mantooth or his situation, as I knew _nothing_ about it. I respect him _way too much_ to do that.

I based my story on three things only:

A. My _own brother_ was a California Department of Forestry lineman, and now, at age _71_ faces a battle with emphysema;

B. The storyline that John Gage was from Montana;

C. The fact that other writers have written many different death fics concerning major characters on this site.

My sincerest apologies if I have offended _anyone._ Apparently, I don't know the unwritten rules of the game yet. If you are a guest, please be aware I cannot reply to your PM unless you sign in to the FanFiction site.

The reason I used cancer instead of emphysema is that based on my sad experience in both my father's and my brother's cases, emphysema generally kills at a much slower pace. My father lasted for over 15 long painful, ultimately ugly years with it. I was his caregiver for the last nine of those years.


End file.
